


the layers of trust

by windfalling



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Minor Elizabeth Keen/Donald Ressler, Minor Elizabeth Keen/Samar Navabi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4927873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfalling/pseuds/windfalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She is shaking and wide-eyed and her first thought is, </i>I’m dead.<i></i></p><p><i>But the world is still bright. Her heart is still beating. The darkness does not come, and her second thought is, </i>I’m going to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the layers of trust

**Author's Note:**

> so i watched the s3 premiere and just totally fixated on those two scenes with samar & ressler and had to write something about it.
> 
> note: this is not that shippy samar/ressler-wise; the romantic undertones are more hints of liz/ressler (and liz/samar, if you squint), though all of the relationships in this fic can be read ambiguously, whatever you wish.

 

He pulls the trigger and her cheek is splattered with blood and the gun at her temple digs into her skin as they fall.

She is shaking and wide-eyed and her first thought is, _I’m dead._

But the world is still bright. Her heart is still beating. The darkness does not come, and her second thought is, _I’m going to kill him_.

Someone pulls her up and it isn’t Ressler. When she goes inside to find him, he doesn’t even look at her. His eyes are far away, thinking of red-light hallways and blue eyes. 

Samar almost pities him—almost walks away.

But he isn’t the only one who lost her. 

Samar wears her anger on her skin and walks right up to him. _You didn’t have a shot. You could have missed—_

 

 

 

 

 

 

They are all reeling from Liz’s betrayal. 

Aram keeps his faith. Ressler is doing his duty. Samar—

She doesn’t know what to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ressler is gathering the facts, and Samar tries to do the same. All she can come up with is:

Liz shot the Attorney General of the United States.

She is on the run with Reddington.

Ressler let her escape.

(There are other things Samar does not put on the list, but this is one that she will never forget:

That day at the airport, when she was injured and infected and contagious. The determined look that Liz had given her through that glass door, and how she hadn’t even hesitated before pushing it open. The warmth of Liz’s arms around her, holding her, keeping her alive. 

Every time Samar thinks of Elizabeth Keen, she thinks of this.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

_I’m sorry,_ he says to her later.

The Post Office has long been empty.

He is sitting at Cooper’s desk—his desk, now, for the time being. The television in the corner is muted, but she’s heard it so many times now that she can almost hear the words: _Former FBI agent Elizabeth Keen, suspected terrorist and Russian spy…_

She shuts it off.

Ressler tilts his head up to look at her. “It won’t happen again,” he says quietly. He still doesn’t quite meet her eyes, lingering instead at her cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I risked your life, and—I could have killed you.” 

His face is weary and his eyes are dark and she sees how he is tightly he is holding himself together, and how easy it would be to unravel him. How close he is to being torn apart by _duty_ and _truth_ and _loyalty_. She has always been able to read him.

But she will never be able to forget the terror of those few seconds. She will never forgive him for that.

“Is that all?” she says, then adds, “ _Sir_.” 

He sighs. “With Agent Keen gone… I need a new partner.”

She stares. Then she laughs, hard and disbelieving. “You’re joking.”

“I’m one hundred per cent serious.”

She’s already shaking her head, backing away. “No. _No_. After what happened today? You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe. But you’re the only one I trust to have my back.”

“Tough luck, because I don’t trust _you_ to have mine. Find someone else.” She walks away.

“You were right,” he calls out to her, just as she goes to slam the door behind her. “What you said earlier, about me. I let her go.”

Samar pauses at the threshold, her fingers slowly relaxing on the doorknob. “I let her go,” he says, the words unfolding from his mouth, “and she shot the Attorney General.”

She walks back toward him and takes a seat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They fail to capture her.

Liz is likely on a plane, going somewhere far, far away.

Deep inside her, Samar is relieved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Samar shows up at Ressler’s apartment with a pack of cheap beer in one hand and takeout in the other.

Ressler opens the door with a scowl. “Navabi, what the hell are you doing here?”

“You look like hell,” she says. “Though the beard you have going on isn’t too bad.”

“Thanks.” His voice is flat. He begins to inch the door closed, but she pushes past him.

“I didn’t want to be late.”

“For what?”

“For your little pity party,” she says, dumping the food on the table. “Aram’s bringing over the dessert.”

“He’s—what?” He looks at her incredulously, his jaw working as he visibly restrains himself. “Look, you need to—”

“I’m sorry she got away,” she says quietly. “But we’ll get her back. And in order to do that, you actually have to come to work. So we’re giving you one more day to drown in your sorrow. One more day, and then you come back.”

Ressler is silent. 

She holds out a bottle, and he takes it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someday in the near future, before the task force and the Post Office is disbanded and after Elizabeth Keen has disappeared without a trace, they will have had a hundred near-death experiences.

One of them will be this:

Samar is fighting with a man holding a gun, and she is losing. They are moving too fast and too unpredictably for Ressler to take action. The gun goes off at the ceiling, once, twice—

Then it is pointed right at her.

Samar looks him in the eye. One heartbeat, then another.

His mind is clear. His hand is steady.

Ressler pulls the trigger, and he does not miss.

 


End file.
